ORIGINAL VERSE.

Southland Times, Issue 20771, 11 May 1929, Page 22

ORIGINAL VERSE.

Every now and then Cousin Myrtle Somerville wakes up and writes a poem which makes me rub my eyes and look again to see if she hasn't marked it “From the Poets, after which I become duly hopeful and enthusiastic about her all over again. And this is one of the “nows” in question. “A Thought” is exquisite, and I can only say "Thank you, my dear.” A THOUGHT. On marigolds and dainty phlox, The trellis fence hedge of box, The marguerites so marble pale, The lilies too, pure white and frail, The silvery moonlight shimmering • down, And silence held the sleeping town. Overhead shone diamond dust, Through banked up clouds with silver crust; . ’Twas then I thought that God was great To make this world so fair, elate.

—4 marks to Cousin Myrtle Somerville (17), Bluff Road, Clifton.

Cousin Peter Ferguson, who is such a versatile writer, must not rnyme "hither” and “river,” nor yet “leaves” and "grieve,” nor again, “shapes” and “makes.” “Mist on * u - River” is good despite these things. MIST ON THE RIVER. A winter’s breeze And willow trees A-shimmer and a-shiver The leaves float by , Where waters lie When there’s mist on the river Green Kowhai leaves That seem to grieve As they hang low and quiver In water near Reflected clear When there's mist on the river. Fantastic shapes The w'hite mist makes As it rolk there, then hither O’er waters low When breezes blow And there’s mist on the river. —3 marks to Cousin Peter Ferguson (14), Underwood. There is something of Milton’s “L’Allegro” in Cousin Jean Playfair’s charming poem on “Laughter.” Could I praise it higher? LAUGHTER. Laughter, merry laughter, Glad voice of the woodlands, With Comus, thy brother, On wring with thee after. Join together the hands, Of the fairyland bands, Play on at thy pipes till The wind drinks his fill. Then tell him to scatter Thy glad music away, To lighten our hearts And to gladden the day. Oh! blest art thou, laughter Oh, gay, rippling laughter! Play on at tby pipe! When , thy music is ripe, The breezes will carry' Thy laughter to me, And then ever after, Oh gracious laughter, Thy joy and thy gladness Will still with me be. —3 marks to Cousin Jean Playfair (15), "Bonniefield,” Gummies Bush. I am so glad Cousin Annie Renwick is trying her hand at verse-making. She makes a promising beginning which I hope she will follow up. THE WIND'S SONG. I roar through the mighty forests, I sway the trembling grass, I sigh ’mid the weeping willows, Then laugh as I swiftly pass. I wrap the dim. and ghostly moon, '• In clouds of white and grey When the sun tips the hills with rose, And the last stars fly away. I churn the majestic ocean, Into wild and angry foam, Then over the seething billows, , Yet farther afield I roam. I sweep the desert, stretches, I puff the clouds away, I dance over sunny meadows. Where little children play. No human stays my progress, No human bars my way In vain for men to call On me, the wind, to stay. —3 marks to Consin Annie Renwick (13), Lumsden. In “Pictures in the Fire ’’ Cousin Elsie Amos has treated an old subject in a most original way. “Sea” and “see,” two words with the same sound, do not make a rhyme. PICTURES IN THE FIRE. Now the day is almost over, Draw your chairs up to the fire, Let your mind go drifting onward. To the things you most desire. Perhaps it is of friends you’re thinking, Far across dividing sea, And the picture in the fireglow, Faces that you long to see.

Or perhaps you have ambjtion, Something that you’d like to be; In the fireglow picture places, That some day you mean to see.

Or perhaps you’re only thinking Of something you might have done; Of some load you might have lightened, And the smile you might have won.

In the fireglow picture faces, That are sad with grief and pain. In secret whisper to the fireglow, “I will help them smile again."

—3 marks to Cousin Elsie Amos (15), Invereargill-Gleneoe R.D.